The Reanimated Dead (Book 1): Into the Cotswolds

by Wakefield, Trevor

  Others a little opposite the main road showed no signs of life and if there was, they were keeping themselves to themselves like I had planned to do to start with. Not so long down the A38 was a camping store, a large independent one that as a teenager I had my first full time job at. It had seen quite a few changes since I had last worked there but I still knew it quite well from the times I had shopped there. Turning left into the store’s open gates my heart sank from what I saw in front of me. The front of the store was ransacked. Clothes were strewn around the front of the store and the children’s playground, windows smashed in and even a small display dome tent had been dragged half out of one of the front windows. I shook my head. What kind of twenty-four carat knobbier would want a tent in the current climate? A climate of severe to downright fucking it down with zombies.

  I slowly circled the empty car park looking at the remnants of the pillaging and was about to drive off when a blue flashing light on the eaves of the building caught my eye. It was the building’s security alarms. For them to be going off the store must have been closed when it was raided. Now my heart leapt as this was positive news. If it was closed and locked up then the chances were the storeroom door was locked and, being quite substantial, there was a change that it hadn’t been broken into.

  A plan was forming in my head of what I would need to use and how to use it to get into the store. Mine was the only vehicle in the car park but I decided to park to the left, pretty much out of sight from the main road so as not to be on view if anyone else happened to be passing and nosey. I took off the high lift Jack from its mountings, tied some Para cord to it and put it over my head and shoulder, pulling the cord tight, bringing the Jack into my body and stopping it moving too much. It was heavy but not so much that its restricted movement. I jumped up and down a few times to check it – it hurt as it dug in when it moved but I could live with that.

  I put the pump action behind the seats, out of sight, and took the crossbow from the passenger seat. It was cocked and loaded and would make a lot less noise. I had my two shotgun pistols if shit hit the fan but why make more noise if I didn’t have to?

  I locked the 90 and make my way over to the store. I made my way in through the closest broken window, crossbow out front scanning for threats whilst my feet crunched more noisily than I’d have liked on the broken glass. Straight off I saw some kit that caught my eye and unfortunately, I also saw that what I had come here for was already stripped from the shelves. I held out hope that the storeroom door was still locked and intact. I moved on from what I had seen and made a mental note of where it was for on the way back out.

  The storeroom door was right in front of me now labelled ‘Storeroom – STAFF ONLY’. It had a keypad lock handle and above that a Yale lock. I tried the door handle quietly – the handle turned but the door didn’t open. I would have been a right ‘tool’ trying to break in only to find it was already unlocked, wouldn’t I? Next, I pushed against the door at the Yale lock to see if there was any flex, meaning that it wasn’t locked. Unfortunately, it was solid. I put my foot at the bottom of the door and pushed. It flexed. I did the same at the top with both hands and it too flexed. That was good and meant that it wasn’t bolted top or bottom. This only took seconds to check. My next check was a check around the immediate vicinity. I hadn’t heard or seen any movement since I entered but had that weird sixth sense feeling that I wasn’t alone. Another quick look around and I could see nothing to alarm me, so I put the bow against the wall alongside the storeroom door, unswung the Jack off my back and got to work.

  I held the Jack horizontally, placed the foot of the Jack against the hinge side of the door (inside the frame) and then extended out the jacking part until it was against the lock side of the frame – about level with the keypad handle. Within a quarter of a pump of the Jack handle both ends of the Jack bit into both sides of the frame. With a grunt and a full pump of the handle the frame spread out by an inch or so both sides with the sound of splintering wood.

  The door now had some ‘give’ in it but was still secured by the Yale lock further up. I repositioned the Jack further up, and level with, the Yale lock and repeated the process. This time it made even more noise and plaster came off the surrounding wall in large chunks but this time the door was free and open. I took the Jack out of the door frame, ratchetted it back to its low setting and slung it back onto my back again, pulling the Para cord tight.

  I thought I could hear movement from the direction I had come in but looking in that direction all I could see was the tent part way out of the window, flapping in the breeze. Not seeing anything, but also not trusting that there was nothing there, I placed a load of water proofing spray cans (from a buy one get one free end of aisle display) upright in a semi-circle about nine feet in diameter in front of the storeroom door. If anyone or anything knocked one or more over it would ring out, being an early warning alarm of company arriving. Another look around and again seeing and hearing nothing I entered the storeroom. The light switches were still in the same place as I remembered, despite all the remodelling over the last twenty or so years. I could see from here that the main roller door was down and secure. The fire door next to it was too. Chances of bumping into an undead worker or raider in here were practically zero and it was also quite spacious and well lit, what with skylights and strip lights. Satisfied that I wouldn’t get jumped in here, I shut and secured the door with two large boxes (one atop the other) against it.

  Right. Now to grab a trolley and do my own version of Supermarket Sweep then get the fuck out of here. The trolley was a typical wire basket on ‘go-anywhere but where the fuck you wanted it’ swivel wheels. Dale Winton had died a few months ago but he would have been proud of my choices.

  The first stop was the meal-in-a-bag section. It was the one that was cleared out in the store but there was plenty in the storeroom – boxes upon boxes of the bloody things. Each box had 32 bags inside and were quite compact at a foot by 8’’ x 10’’. I found a box of treacle pudding – that would satisfy my sweet tooth for a few weeks, a box of scrambled egg & bacon, two boxes of chicken curry and a box of sausage, egg & beans. I bloody hated beans but guess I’d have to get used to them. A box and a half of Kendal Mint Cake followed, as did sachets of Rehydrate Hikers Energy Drink Mix and the like.

  Moving on I found a box of 6’’ snap lights in various colours (1/3rd full) – still, 60+ snap lights can’t be sniffed at! Batteries were next up, and I piled boxes of all types in – alkaline and rechargeable, AA, AAA, C’s, D’s, 9V and 6V’s. Just because they were of no use to me didn’t mean I couldn’t trade and barter with them. In fact, I would take stuff from here specifically for that purpose alone. Two 120 amp 12v leisure batteries in power boxes (plastic cases with 2 x 12v outlets, usb outlets, battery level indicators and trip switches) were put on the lower shelf of the trolley along with a 600-watt power inverter (changes 12v to 240v to run mains power items off grid) and a 180-watt solar panel charger kit and accessories to keep it all topped up. A whole shelf full of boxes from BCB (Browns Cough Bottle – a company specialising in camping and survival items for both military and civilian use) yielded water purifying tablets, straws and filters. Waterproof matches in both boxes and waterproof tubs. Wire saws, flint strikers, first aid kits of all sizes and types. Survival kits in cases and hip bags – I’m a magpie for this type of kit so I was in heaven in here! Boxes of duct tape, cans of puncture sealant, spools of parachute cord, the haul went on and the trolley grew even taller.

  I had selected a few Berghaus rucksacks in Olive Drab. I wouldn’t normally be worried about the colour but, as I had a choice, why not ‘dull it down’ a bit should I need to hot-foot it and keep a low profile? To this end I took some padded wind and waterproof Jack Pyke Sallopets (like Dungarees) which would be invaluable for cold, wet days or even nights which a sleeping bag or blanket would be a hindrance or risk to safety. I was just trying on a matching ‘Real Tree’ camouflage jacket when one of my early warn
ing cans rang out. Fuck! The jacket I had tried on was a size too big, but I didn’t have time to look for a smaller one so onto the trolley with the rest of my loot it went.

  I stood listening. Nothing! I moved the trolley to just past the door and listened with my ear to the door. Still nothing. I tried a trick I had read about where if you open your mouth it cuts out the sound of your own body and heartbeat. Again, nothing. No more cans falling and no shuffling. I was 100% sure it wouldn’t have blown over – a rat maybe? Looking around I saw an open canvas tool tote with a cordless drill handle sticking out of it. Pulling it out revealed that it has plenty of power with its LED lights showing about 80% and an 10mm HSS drill bit in the chuck. I crept up to the door, again leaning on the boxes, brought the drill up to about halfway up the door and proceeded to drill. It probably didn’t make anywhere near as much noise as I thought, but in the quiet of the storeroom it sounded like an Intercity train!

  As soon as the drill bit had done its job boring a little spy hole, I blew any dust left out of it then tried to adjust the sight in the right eye to see through such a tiny hole. I could see nothing but with my mouth open to help my hearing I heard a scuffle then what sounded like a metal shelving unit rattle as it was bumped into. Quiet again. There was something or somebody out there!

  After a few blinks to rest my eye from squinting, I looked out again and saw shadows of movement. I could also smell them. Three, I think. Then all the cans got knocked over and my spy hole went dark there was a thump on the door. Fuck! The thumps against the door were just that – thumps! They knew I was in there but didn’t know how to open or push against the door. Not yet at least. Plan time! I had no cigar and was no Hannibal Smith, but I had the glimmer of a start and that was all I needed.

  So, there were at least 3 undead outside the door. If I could get them to come through the door one at a time or into a holding area, I could take them out with the crossbow one at a time, giving me time to reload each time.

  Ok, I thought to myself, If I build a kind of corral out of boxes from the shelves forcing them down the first aisle in the storeroom – it’s a dead end. I could stand on top of the racking to keep me a safe distance away from them so I can shoot and reload at my leisure. Of course, I could just shoot them with my shotgun pistols, but I didn’t want to make more noise or waste my limited amount of shells at this time. Meh, I’ve had worse ideas over the years, it could work pretty well! Now time to put it into practice!

  I wedged a piece of broken pallet against the door and racking frame opposite, tying a length of Para cord to it so that I could release the door with one pull from the top of the racking. I removed god knows how many boxes from the shelves and set them up waist high to corral them down the first aisle. I didn’t work quietly, the plan was to lure them in, so I needed to keep them interested whilst I worked. I removed the two boxes against the door, so it was just the piece of pallet wood holding it shut. A quick peep through the hole again showed they were still there eagerly lining up to get in. I gave the door a few knocks and a cheeky ‘Come and get me motherfuckers!’ To make sure I still had their full attention. Satisfied that this was going to work I scaled the racking to the top.

  The bow was cocked and loaded ready and I was semi-crouched due to the ceiling height but comfortable. With the Para cord in hand I took a few deep breaths and pulled hard upwards. The piece of pallet came rattling away across the floor and the door came ajar three or so inches.

  I was impatiently waiting but nothing happened for almost a minute, then the door slowly opened fully and the first one came in followed closely by number two. Number three was in no rush it seemed and took her own sweet time, stopping in the doorway and seemingly cautious about entering. It was almost two minutes before she came in and was directed by my stacked stock down the first aisle. By this time number one and two had reached the end of the aisle and were making an about-turn back out. Now was the time to drop them.

  Number three was right below me – I aimed right at the crown of her head and let loose. The bolt struck her right at the top of her head and buried itself up to its fletching’s – she dropped to the floor without a single moan. Number two had made the turn before number one and slowly started to shamble back the way he had come. Re-cocked and loaded, I aimed again and let loose another bolt and hit him above and behind the right ear. Helped with the blow from the bolt he fell forward and made almost a ‘wet fish of a slap’ noise as his face hit the tiled floor. Number one must’ve heard me clanking around up on the racking as he made his way to the prone form of number two and looked up at me. I wasn’t fazed and proceeded to cock the crossbow. But as I looked down at the bow to load it, I heard a scuffle-like noise and thud. Looking to the floor I could see that number one had tripped over number two and was now led face down looking like it was trying to do snow angels on the dusty floor. He seemed unable to pick himself up, so I climbed down the racking to the floor. Rather than use the crossbow, I unswung the Jack and proceeded to cave the back of his head in with the iron base of it. I only managed to retrieve one of my bolts and that was from number two as the other was too far into the girl’s head to pull out.

  I popped my head out of the stock room door, crossbow tracking wherever I looked. Nothing to be seen so I turned back to the trolley. On the floor by the roller door was a full drum of barbed wire so I put that on the lower trolley shelf too. On the way out of the door I stopped and grabbed the canvas tool tote too. You can never have too many tools!

  I perched the crossbow on top of the trolley and pushed it out of the door. It wasn’t the best trolley as I knew but now it was top heavy and as I cleared the door it suddenly lurched to the left and buried itself into the nearest shelf. The crossbow slid off the new jacket and hit the floor. As I tried to pull it back on track, I felt the right shoulder of my jacket being grabbed. Spinning around I was face to face with a zombie whose breath smelt worse than anything I have ever smelt up to this point, with another behind him! What a twat! I was on a high from dispatching the zombies in the storeroom and distracted with my loot and should have had a final look before leaving the storeroom.

  The crossbow was way out of reach on the other side of the trolley now. Fuck it! The quiet approach was now over, time to bring the noise! My right arm reached out and grabbed the zombie under his left arm at arm’s length to keep him locked away from me as I grabbed the shotgun pistol out in my left hand. Boy was I glad I went with double holsters instead of one! With it in hand, I swung it up and under his chin using the shortened barrels to further push his head and snapping teeth away and pulled the trigger. Boom!! The silence was shattered alright. My wrist and arm recoiled back – it was supposed to be a shoulder supported long barrelled gun originally after all. It hurt but was manageable. His head from his jawbone upwards vaporised as the lead shots tore through skin, brain and bone at point blank but, as he fell still gripping my jacket shoulder in his vice like grip, he brought me to my knees under his falling body weight.

  The next zombie lost no time and was now above me, about to bear down with his hungry jaws. I swung the shotgun pistol from right to left into his knee joint. There was a large crack and kind of sucking noise – like when you pull a cooked chicken leg off the body. He fell like a chopped tree, sideways onto my first attacker and finally yanking the gripped hand from my shoulder I stood up, took myself a step back and let him have shot two to the temple. Not as much mess this time and was also ready for the kick of the gun. Drawing the second pistol I did a 360 degree turn and all was clear. I holstered the second pistol and reloaded the first before re-holstering that one too.

  The crossbow was fine, so I made sure the bolt hadn’t been dislodged from its little drop, put it back on top of the trolley then headed to the gas canister aisle. Several bulk packs precariously balanced next to the bow and then, pushing the stubborn, bi-polar trolley almost sideways to get it to go where I wanted, stopped by the information desk. The revolving glass display stand was smashed and emp
ty, but I knew the actual ‘for sale’ items were kept in a locked cupboard under the till. A few swift kicks and the little door caved. I emptied it totally. A complete range of Bear Grylls knives and machetes, lighters, head torches and another jet boil cooker.

  I pushed the trolley to the window I came in from and left it as I ran over to the shoe section. I didn’t take the bow; I’d already made a shit load of noise so why carry on with the stealth? They had exactly what I wanted at first glance. A pair of size eleven Hi-Tec Magnum boots with side zip and steel toe caps. I kicked off my old ripped work boots and socks, they smelt like death themselves, grabbed a nice pair of cushioned boot socks and slipped them all on – bloody luxury! And that Dale concludes my Supermarket Sweep!

  The window was a floor to ceiling type with just a little ledge which, even with the weight of the over-loaded trolley, was easy to get over. It was a little strange over the tarmac and I dropped a few things here and there but finally got it up to the back door of the 90. I pretty much threw it all in (some went in boxes, but I didn’t fancy hanging around here to sort it out now).

  Sitting in the front of the 90 with the doors all locked, I looked at the dash clock – it was 12.35. I had killed six humans and five zombies all by lunchtime today and the day was still young. Mmmm lunchtime. Time for some food. I scoffed down a cold Treacle Pudding and half a Kendal Mint Cake. I’ll have a sugar rush in a bit, but it did taste great. With the cans from the transit and packets from here, and if I only had one meal a day, I had six months’ food already. Okay, I would be in the same shape I’m in now and would no doubt use up some of my acquired fat reserves, but as I’ve always said, “I’m not fat, just saving up for a famine”.

  Post-it notes and pen time. There always used to be – and I hope there still is – a little convenience store another half mile up the road. There’s no doubt in my mind that if it’s still there it has already been pillaged as much as this place. Only thing is that I guarantee everyone went for the easy option of tinned goods. I had other plans. My list consisted of sugar, self-raising flour and marge (I had a 12v cool box in the back so it wouldn’t spoil). The ingredients for damper bread (a kind of cake/bread Australian explorers used to make on the trail). Quick and Simple to make as well as being ‘low mess’ if you know the tricks. One bag of flour could make five or maybe six breads. A few ingredients that could feed or supplement your diet for weeks from ingredients that others will pass by.